


Dysmorphic

by eremiticAntiquarian



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hand-job, M/M, Self-Harm, Worship, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eremiticAntiquarian/pseuds/eremiticAntiquarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sollux never really had a problem with how he looked until Feferi kept trying to feed him all of her baked goods to put some meat on his bones. He attracted the unwanted help of his least favorite troll, but it could be just what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dysmorphic

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fill for the homesmut kink meme, originally posted in 6 parts. And while I had a wonderful, lovely beta (querulousArtisan), any and all mistakes are in the end mine.
> 
> POV switches from Eridan to Sollux about 1/3rd of the way in.

You watch them. You always watch them together. It is almost an obsession of yours now. How she giggles with him like she used to do with you… How he lays with her in Gamzee’s horn pile… How the hell she even managed to get him away from his computer for more than two seconds.

It all just makes you sick.

You see how attentive she is to him. She always is bringing him some sort of snack so he never needs to leave his seat, until precisely when she wants him to. A plate of cookies, a grubwich, some peeled and salted fruit, a variety of baked goods. And she just keeps bringing him more, even if he didn’t finish he last gift.

The unappreciative, lowblood, land-dwelling, hoofbeast’s droppings. You always savored every bit of what Feferi gave you to the last nibble.

When she was your moirail.

And you just watch, because what else can you do. You’ve already tried salvaging what was left of your relationship with Feferi which only served to push her farther away. Sollux wants nothing to do with you. He doesn’t tolerate your emotional theatrics. No, in fact, he just flat out ignores them altogether.

And you just feel so lost. It’s hard and nobody understands.

You think to yourself, revisiting all your flaws. It has become a habit. You need to find out where all this went wrong. When Fef got tired of you for just being you, when Vris got bored with your rivalry. No matter what Karkat says about Vriska being dysfunctional, you can’t help but think it was all on you.

The way you dress, people have teased you about it. How you hold yourself. How you spout your empty threats of mass-culling and baseless ideal of hemosupremacy. How you are so often lost in your own emotional chaos to pull yourself out of the drama and just think logically for one goddamned second. You grasp onto your science whenever you can, just to hold on to that one thread of sense you might have sometimes.

Your stomach rumbles, and you make sure no one heard.

You haven’t ate a single bite of food for longer than you can think. If you even tried, it just wouldn’t stay down. Seeing Feferi dote on that piss-blooded waste of space with her homemade cupcakes leaves you nauseous. You know her skill with baking, and it used to make you salivate thinking about it. Now it only twists your insides.

You’ve started to lose that bit of pudge hanging on from prepubescence. If you look hard enough at yourself in the mirror, you imagine that your gaunt cheeks are the distinguished features of Orphaner Dualscar ready to burst through.

You’re lying to yourself.

What really makes you lose it is how Sollux is never even appreciative of her gestures. You would be. There is still a part of you, miniscule as it may be hidden amongst all your spite, that would love to have Feferi doting on you again. Even one little slice of her carefully decorated cake or a nibble of her nautically theme sugar cookies.

That bastard sneers at her treats more and more often.

You notice him more and more often.

Out of the corner of your eye, your typical fashion of watching them, you see Feferi forcibly stuffing one of her famous strawberry-cream cheese cupcakes into Sollux’s mouth. He’s surprised by this and spit it out immediately. All over his monitor. You watch him freeze and stare at the mess, then his fingertips twitch slightly and his knees pull up so only his toes touch the floor. He hunches over more than his usual poor posture.

It’s like watching a supernova, you muse. Pulling in on itself then expanding in one burst of immeasurable energy. Sollux rises to his feet and faces Feferi in one swift motion.

“that2 iit ff,” he yells. “ii cant take thii2 con2tant fussiing and tryiing two feed me anymore 2eriiou2ly ii get iit you thiink iim two thiin and 2triingy weak and whatever else your worriied about and 2hiit but iif you dont 2top tryiing two fatten me up iim goiing two fuckiing blow.”

Feferi stood looking stunned while Sollux stepped through the transportalizer. You hear her let out a faint glub, or maybe just know that that is what she would do in this situation. She flops down into the horn pile. Then notices you watching her.

You can’t say you didn’t see this coming. As much as Feferi might have been able to balance Sollux out socially by pulling him away from his own little world trapped inside his computer, he’s still a worthless lowblood who can’t appreciate the finer things she has to offer.

And she still doesn’t have a clue how to treat a moirail. Too overbearing, controlling, condescending.

Each time she fussed about how thin he was, he shrank back from her more and more. And you know what, you are Eridan fucking Ampora and you know about issues involving one’s own appearance better than any other nooksniffer on this fucking rock. You’d bet your life that Sollux’s discomfort in his own body grew each time another plate was shoved his way.

Her eyes narrow at you while you passively gaze back, daring you to make some sort of arrogant or snide remark once expected out of you. Or perhaps she’s waiting for you to gloat about her failing new moiraillegiance and tell her she should come back to you. But you’re done with her, and you wonder what she’ll do when she realizes that.

You break eye contact with her and turn back to your own monitor without even the slightest sound.

——----

You don’t know how long you’ve been down here. Doing nothing. Climbing up and down stairs. Thinking about nothing, or at least trying to. More importantly, avoiding Feferi.

The thoughts repeating through your head are something along the lines of: “thii2 ii2 2tupiid, 2he doe2nt know what 2he2 talkiing about.” and “holy 2hiit iim hiideou2ly 2crawny arent ii?” The pendulum swinging back and forth between the two, and you don’t see it coming to a happy middle anytime soon.

And through these action and these thoughts, you’ve led yourself to staring at your reflection in a section of the polished steel walls.

When you look at your wrist, you’re sure Feferi is right and you’re just not healthy at all. You can wrap your thumb and index finger around it and cross over one whole knuckle. It leaves you feeling disgusted at yourself.

It isn’t as though you neglect your needs. You eat when you feel hungry, and you’re sure that that is at an average level for a troll your age. Your arms won’t look like Gamzee’s from all his juggling of those stupid clubs. Even Tavros has more muscles than you from pushing himself around in that wheelchair all the time and carrying that stupid daggerlance. Equius has all of his body mass from genetics.

You’re hopeless. You will forever be nothing but skin and bones, the weakest of them all.

You roll up your sleeve and take in the reflection of your arm. Watch yourself try to pinch at some of the flesh, but it is willful in remaining tight against your humerus. You watch thin fingers trace over the angles of your elbow and shoulder.

Without pulling down your collar, the jutting out of your clavicle can be seen as shadows in the fabric.

Your face is thin, but your complexion isn’t terrible. The point of your chin, however, does make you have the sudden urge of punching your reflection.

So you do.

And now the metal is dented and your knuckles are bleeding all for naught. Now the image of yourself glaring back at you just seems to have gained even more sharp edges.

You tear off your shirt, glasses falling to the floor with it.

You run your nails down your chest, eager to see the swelling which will raise the flesh off of your ribs a little more.

Droplets of yellow follow the path taken by your clawing. You watch carefully as they trail over your flat stomach and divoting waist and rest at your waistband, pooling there. Mocking you by drawing attention to the rise of your pelvic bone.

You hate it.

You hate it and your tear at yourself and wonder if it would even make a difference if you ate all of Feferi’s treats. You feel sick even thinking about taking another bite, but want to force yourself to go back up there and demand she bring you more.

Fuck that. If it hadn’t have been for her trying to force feed you and constantly getting worked up about how you looked, you would have never even noticed anything was wrong with you.

Dropping down to your knees, covering your face with one hand and falling forward on the other, you sob. It’s nearly silent, but nonetheless pitiful. And you hate yourself all the more for it.

“wwhat the fuck sol…”

You tense. Why, fucking why, did it have to be him to find you like this? The last fucking troll you’d want to see. And now you’re really fucking pissed off.

You rip your hand from your eyes, yellow-tinted tears mixing with drying blood. Pounding the floor with your fist opens the wounds further. You grit your teeth against the pain, but can’t stop the action. It’s better than facing him, than waiting to hear his taunting.

“sol…”

“2hut up 2shut your fuckiing proteiin chute and turn around and let2 ju2t pretend you never saw thii2 and you wiill never 2ay anythiing about iit two anyone and ju2t go the fuck away already why are you 2stiil here?”

You hear him shifting, still refusing to look his way.

“come on sol. im really not sure wwhat to make a this public display of self-aggression but you should probably leave the ovverdramatic stormy seas to me”

“fuck off already, ed.”

You risk a glance in his direction.

Eridan stands there wide-eyed looking you over. You can feel his eyes working over your disgusting figure. You never meant for anyone to see you like this. Never should have taken your shirt off. Never should have done something like this out of your respite block. Fuck, you hate yourself.

The sea-dweller walks up behind you and places his arms under yours, attempting to lift you. You resist and fall forward again.

His arms still caught between yours and your body causes him to fall forward onto your back. You still, stunned. Even more shocked when he doesn’t pull away in horror from your skeletal back. You know your spine has to be showing through, especially hunched over like this. But he just sits there. And presses against you tighter.

Then his arms close around your chest. They wrap around so tightly that he can grasp his own elbows. Or maybe that’s just how sickly you are.

“sol you got to stop doin this,” he whispers all to close too your auricular sponge clot.

You twist in his arms weakly.

“go away ju2t 2tay away from me.”

He removes one arm from under yours and lifts you straight on your knees. His hand presses to your forehead and pulls back so that you’re looking at your reflection again. The first thing you notice is how your bangs stick out between his fingers.

“wwhy wwould you do somethin like this to yourself?”

You watch as he pulls his other hand across your chest. His fingernails catch the gashes you made down your torso as he sweeps over you. Your breath hitches at the sharp pain.

His hand trails lower. Down you side, over your waist. Fingertips play at the coagulating blood at the edges of your hips.

You don’t understand. You’re confused. You don’t know if he’s doing this to show you all of your flaws all over again.

“tell me wwhy”

You can’t answer him. Half of you doesn’t even know anymore, and the other half refuses to admit to anything.

His arm crosses your waist and he’s holding on to the opposite hip now. Tightly, and it gets harder to breath.

Eridan presses his face into the crook of your neck. His fin tickles at your jawline. His horn knocks against yours. You shiver. Unable move away because he’s still holding your face steady, towards the steel wall.

His fingers cease digging into your hip, stroking gently. He remains silent. And you are still so very, very confused.

“you’re so fuckin beautiful sol and i can’t think a anythin that wwould make you do this”

His lips move against your skin, and you feel sick to your stomach. Not at him. Sick for him having to touch you like this. For him telling you these things that you know he can’t possibly mean.

“2top lyiing,” you gasp out. “plea2e dont do thii2 two me.”

“are you lookin at yourself?”

He shifts his face, rests his chin on you instead. He’s watching you in the reflection now, too. His fingers play at your waistband, dipping under just slightly.

You choke back a sob and he presses his lips to your cheek. And somehow with you distracted, he’s undone your pants with one hand and let them slide down your barely there hips. The fingers on your forehead stroke your hair but never relent in pressing your head up.

His touch is too soft on you as he runs his hand up and down your stomach, smearing the blood.

“wwill you let me showw you how attractivve you are? please sol i want to provve it to you”

Against your better judgment, and definitely contrary to how annoyed his stupid accent makes you, you lean back against Eridan’s chest. While part of you is fighting this, completely unbelieving, another part is yelling at you to accept. Beating down the doors and destroying the walls of your bifurcated think pan and fucking demanding it. You need this. Maybe you even need him.

He takes the hint.

Moving his hand from your forehead and back through your hair, grazing his palm against your horns on the way, Eridan is trusting you to keep watching.

He kisses his way from your cheek down your neck, across your collar bone and to your shoulder. That hideous bony shoulder.

That hideous bony shoulder which he is practically worshiping with his lips and tongue.

You watch intently, wondrously, and suppress a moan.

One hand is teasing the hair at the back of your neck, the other working your pants off of one hip at a time. And his mouth keeps its pace suckling at your shoulder.

You’re exposed, pants pooling at your knees. And having been divested of shirt and glasses by your own self, you’re left truly bare for Eridan to see. You want to pull your arms around yourself, but lacking the energy to do so, they hang limp at your sides.

He moves his hand from waist up your right side and along your arm. When he gets to your hand, he clasps his fingers to your palm. Raises the back of your hand, your bloody knuckles, to his lips. Yellow marring the highblood’s mouth.

You nearly squeeze your eyes shut as something catches in your windhole and you find it tightening.

Eridan lifts your arm higher. Over his shoulders and he leans down to continue his reverence to your ribs. Your waist. He licks at your gashes, now swollen closed and bleeding ceased. His actions still sting you, but it is somewhat pleasant.

One hand wraps around your right thigh, the other on your left ass cheek. Both massaging gently. And you have a hard time believing what you’re seeing in the reflection. Believing that he looks as if he’s enjoying your body.

Something in your think pan keeps waiting for this all to be a joke. A sick, horrible joke so that he can push you over the edge and claim Feferi’s moiraillegience back for himself.

But he’s not stopping.

He sucks at your jutting pelvis bone, licks into the dips. Cleans the blood off of you with his tongue.

Without meaning to, your own left hand has managed to find its way up to push back your bangs and grip tightly at your hair. You feel his hand between your legs tap at the insides of your thighs and you spread your legs apart.

The fucking sea-dwelling genocidal megalomaniac is in complete control of your body now. You realize this, and you can’t bring yourself to care. Especially not with the way his mouth is presently working you over.

Fingers trace lightly over your bone bulge and you gasp loudly.

In the reflection, you see him gazing up at you. He’s smirking, pleased at the sound, arrogant. And making sure you’re still watching all of this. You take a risk, try to catch his eyes in a passing glimpse down at him.

You’re not sure if you believe the pure desire you see there. But Eridan has always worn his collapsing and expanding bladder based aquatic vascular system on his hipster sleeve. It’s hard to logic any other explanation.

Seeing him more clearly, you decided that you hate what he’s wearing. Your arm lifelessly slung over him suddenly comes to life and rips off his idiotic cape and makes quick work of unwrapping the scarf from his neck. Your hand slides up under his shirt and you dig your nails in.

He moans and bites down on your hip, eliciting a gasp from you as well.

He fluidly removes his left hand from your backside and comes around under your arm. Behind you once again, he removes his other hand from your bone bulge where he was still only administering light touches. A blush rises to your cheeks as you realize how much you’re aching for his touch to be there again.

You see in the reflection his arms raise his shirt over his head and off. It joins your own on the floor.

Mere seconds later, his right hand wraps around and returns to your bulge. You let out a few heavy breaths and are rewarded with Eridan’s mouth on your neck once more. You revel in the feeling of skin on skin.

He lavishes you in adoration. Kisses. Laps with his tongue the indents of your collar bone and throat. Nibbles on that place between your neck and shoulder.

His bare chest against your back tight, hands gripping at your waist and bulge.

Then he strokes. You cry out. He sucks at your neck harder.

You press yourself flush against him and throw your head back on his shoulder. And as you grind back into his hips, you feel his bulge press back against you. He gasps into his kisses.

You turn your head to him and kiss at his fin. His hair. Anything you can get your mouth on.

His lips meet yours and you’re lost in them. Tongues dancing together, there’s no fighting or dueling. Just two open and willing mouths breathing hotly against each other. Your forked tongue wraps around his. You trace his teeth, he nibbles your bottom lip.

It ends all too soon. He pulls back and looks you in the eyes and he whispers, “keep wwatching”

You oblige.

You watch yourself rocking into his hand and back into him. You watch yourself reach your arm up and behind and grasp onto his horn. He grinds forward into you, gripping your other hip tightly now. Stroking you at a faster pace.

You’re both panting and moaning and gasping.

“ii – ii need a paiil,” in a voice thicker than you’re used to hearing yourself speak.

“keep wwatching,” demanding, low and serious.

The edges of your vision begin to fade, but you do all you can to keep your eyes watching. He’s watching too, you notice for the first time. He probably has been all along, watching himself making you react this way.

Eyes peering over his glasses with his mouth still latched to your shoulder. The sight of him makes your bulge twitch.

He’s rubbing his bulge against your ass furiously now. His strokes more chaotic. Nails digging into your hip. Thumb circling the tip of your bulge, trailing through the leaking yellow fluids.

Your grip tightens on his horn desperately. Vision hazy. You cry out.

Spurts of yellow splash the floor in front of you, soaking into your pants around your knees. He milks you, progressively gentler with each stroke until he’s just palming your bulge.

A soft hand stroking your cheek brings you out of your daze, how long you’ve been out of it you don’t know.

What you see in the reflection makes you gasp.

Despite the angry yellow lines on your torso, the tightness of scabbing knuckles, the limpness inflicting your body, and all the wonderful bruises and bite marks covering your body courtesy of Eridan.

You’re glowing. And you can’t will the grin off of your face, no matter how hard you try.

“i told you that you wwere hook-line-and-sinker beautiful sol,” he states smugly, head buried in your back, but arms still holding your waist.

You twist towards him.

“ii 2hould repay the favor”

Eridan just laughs. Pulls back from you and looks down at himself. You follow his eyes. The front of his striped pants are stained dark and wet. Droplets of royal purple pooling below him.

You turn fully towards him. You grab him fiercely, one hand on facial fin the other brushing over the gills along his ribcage.

And you do the only thing that you can.

Confidently, pick up that kiss where it left off.


End file.
